Night settled over Artemis Tower like something deliberate-- quiet, contained, watching.
Inside Cael Alexander's penthouse, the fireplace burned low, its glow casting long shadows across glass and marble. The city stretched beyond the windows, indifferent, alive in a way that had nothing to do with what lingered in this room.
Galathea Brooks stood in front of the fire.
Only Cael's dress shirt on, covering only until the top part of her bare legs. One foot slightly forward. The soft, familiar weight of the bedroom slippers grounding her more than she wanted to admit.
She hadn't turned on any other lights.
She hadn't touched anything else.
Just stood there-- like she was deciding whether this place still recognized her.
The penthouse doors opened behind her with a muted chime.
She didn't turn.
